


Home(-)sickness

by thechavanator



Series: Savior Complex [2]
Category: Dragon Quest XI
Genre: Gen, I'm Sorry, Mute Hero | Luminary (Dragon Quest XI), Pseudo-Suicidal Thoughts, brief mentions of veronica and jasper, i guess i don't need to warn for that but i feel you should be prepared regardless, oh boy i actually gotta tag the sads, some very mean light references to spoilers, spoilers for like the ENTIRE GAME my dudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:46:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22396531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thechavanator/pseuds/thechavanator
Summary: hiraeth - a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your pastWell, that was the prompt; now, it's a collection of musings about the concept of home, or the feelings home provokes.I'm dead serious on the spoilers, youwillget something spoiled for you if you haven't gotten at least partway into act 3.
Series: Savior Complex [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1437814
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	Home(-)sickness

**Author's Note:**

> My dear friend nedrynwrites sent me a few prompts back in like, August? And one of them was the one shown in the summary. I am A VERY SLOW WRITER and am just now getting around to this; I've had the idea pretty much since it was suggested (I was hoping for that one tbh) but I only just got the motivation to get stuff down.
> 
> One part prompt, one part an attempt at figuring out everyone's thought processes. An ambitious attempt to be sure, even if each of these scenes are only about 300 words! (I couldn't get Ronnie's to work, on account of her having less stuff to work with in terms of Home-Related Sadness. Someday...) 
> 
> A HUGE thank you to everyone on the SoS discord who sprinted with me through these (sprinto is the main reason this got done in the span of like three days) and to everyone who offered advice on thought processes and informed me that I was doin good!
> 
> The title is SUPPOSED to be homesickness versus home-sickness (like being sick of your home?) but I'm not totally sure it worked, hehe.

They really should be going. Erik’s right, they’ll easily be found if they stay. But is he just supposed to pretend everything’s okay?

Eleven sits down, leaning against the old tree in the center of town, forcing himself to breathe, trying to keep himself from crying. He’s an adult now, and more than that, he’s some legendary hero, or so Granddad had said. Or a monster, if Heliodor is right.

Do Darkspawns cry? Is there some kind of precedent to follow here? Or is he just forging on blindly, carving his own path through Erdrea to find whatever his destiny is?

No, no, he couldn’t be the only one, and whatever killed Zwaardsrust definitely wouldn’t have cried. And why is he leaning into Heliodor’s stupidity anyway?! Stupid, stupid Eleven...

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he hears, and he startles a bit as Erik slings an arm around his shoulders. “If you need to, we can stay here a little longer. One day won’t hurt, I’m sure.”

No, no, Erik has places to be, and Eleven still owes him for the jailbreak, and if that orb moves again because Eleven wasn’t strong enough to keep doing...whatever he’s supposed to be doing, he won’t forgive himself. 

So he picks himself up, signs “ _I’m okay, let’s go_ ,” and wills away what’s left of the tears in his eyes.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He should feel something right now, shouldn’t he? After all, this was his home, once upon a time, even if he was but a few days old. A storied kingdom, home to the Luminary before him, wiped away in the span of a single night...and yet, Eleven feels nearly nothing.

Sure, a small pang of sadness, but not for himself, no. For Jade and Rab, certainly, and for his birth parents, of course. But for himself? He may as well be a stranger wandering these ruins, sadness drawing only from the loss of his home, his _real_ home, as far as he was concerned.

And yet everyone looks at him like he should be mourning his own loss. Is it wrong, then, this disconnect? Maybe it is. He _is_ the Luminary after all, Cobblestone and the past sixteen years be damned. Suck up his own feelings, maybe, put on a show for the twins and Sylv and his new (old, and yet not) grandfather, and his sister, his _sister_! He has a sister!

He had a sister back home too, and a mother, and a grandfather, but it seems his companions (not friends, not yet, maybe not ever, maybe they’ll all leave once he’s done what they want) all want him to sweep that aside and embrace a life he’d never known. And for a moment, he very nearly does.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Every year, on his birthday, on Eleanor’s birthday, Irwin’s birthday, their anniversary, _his_ anniversary, even the day of the lost prince’s birth, Rab and Jade somehow find their way back home.

Somehow, the pain never lessens no matter how often he comes here.

Sometimes Jade will joke that his greatest tragedy is his destroyed stack of Ogler’s Digests (and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t care about _that_ particular loss), but year after year his real pain comes from his family, his countrymen, the city’s living, breathing history turned to rubble.

He’s sure that it isn’t quite the same for Jade, who’s now spent more time on the run than she had in either home. And, now that the lost (former) prince has found his way back to him, Rab won’t delude himself into thinking that Eleven feels this loss the same way he does. (But he appreciates the effort, truly.)

All that remains of his home is a pile of bricks and stone. But, by the goddess, by Yggdrasil’s very leaves, he won’t let the same fate befall any other homes.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Home has always been a complicated topic, as far as Jade is concerned.

Her home still stands, _technically_ , though ruled by a despot she once called “father.” But she’s never truly felt at home there. That’s what Dundrasil was for; at least Eleanor and Irwin never passed off their parenting duties to anyone _else_.

Maybe she doesn’t have the right to feel the same grief that the other Dundrasilians bear. She could always go back to Heliodor, make a big show of how Rab deceived her, and live a relatively normal life.

But no. No, she’s fought too long, spent too much time scouring the world for the slightest clue to help the Luminary, wherever— _whoever_ —they may be now. She can’t turn her back on that now.

She swallows her grief, stays by Rab’s side as he grieves his own loss, presses onward...

And somehow, this place of loss, of endings, gives her something—some _one_ —to fight for. A new beginning, a new spark of hope.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Goddess above, Erik can’t stand this place. Too many memories. Sure, he didn’t _live_ in Sniflheim, but he sure as hell isn’t gonna call the Viking hideout “home”, so Sniflheim is close enough.

Some of his fondest memories lie here, a few salvaged moments of happiness from the shipwreck known as his childhood. The townsfolk doted on him and Mia, even after the time they swiped a few trinkets and ran back to the ship. They were never fed better than when they were in town.

But the _good_ memories weren’t the problem, no. He could deal with those, even if the contrast between Sniflheim’s treatment and the living hell who called themselves his “family” stung. No, he hated Sniflheim because he remembered the pity, and the questions.

“What happened to Mia?” “I’m sorry to hear about your sister’s passing.”

A barrage of Zammles to the heart (an apt comparison, now that he knows what one actually feels like). A bitter reminder that his sister’s status as nicest statue in Erdrea is entirely his fault.

So he stays by the ship, and Veronica teases him, and Eleven and Sylv cast a few concerned glances his way. But he won’t let his facade slip. Nah, he’s fine, just not fond of the cold.

Dave nods, as if he himself somehow understands Erik’s great loss.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the earliest days of his journey, Eleven had assumed that he’d come home to a celebration. The triumphant return of a hero.

Hah. What a stupid assumption _that_ had been. There had never been triumph in ruins, and there’s little to be found in the barest reconstruction, the barricades set up while he was...what, sleeping?

What a pathetic Luminary _he_ turned out to be. Marina thinks he can save the world, but maybe everyone would be better off if he was still sleeping.

Maybe he shouldn’t have woken up in the first place. Slumbering forever in that little grove by Arboria...they’d sure get a kick out of it. He can still hear their whispers, every little expectation he’d failed to meet the instant he set out.

Cobblestone shouldn’t be a battleground. It shouldn’t have been gone in the first place, and yet here he is, here lie the stones, fragments of doors and windows and bookshelves still littering the less-touched parts of town. Another fuckup, huh.

This is home, by the barest definition; it’s not truly his, it belongs more to the refugees spilling out of the tents, the soldiers taking nigh-endless watch for another inevitable monster attack. It was home once, long ago, back when he thought the mark of the Luminary was just a strange birthmark (back when he still _had_ it, before it faded alongside the last of his self-esteem), back when he didn’t know what it was like for his heart to figuratively _and_ literally break. But not anymore. No, he ought to be doomed to wander. That should be atonement enough for his failures, wandering alone while he waits for the world to finally fall.

All the tales from long ago, the ones he pored over when he finally realized the weight of his duty, the person he had to become to shoulder that burden, don’t tell how a Luminary should carry on when he fails.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In any other circumstances, Sylvando would steer _well_ clear of Puerto Valor. He did, in fact, before the tree fell, letting the rest of the party talk to his papi while he panicked out of sight of any prying eyes. 

Something about this town always made him feel inadequate. Sure, he’d made a good knight, back before he discovered the circus and before he decided that, Papi be damned, he wouldn’t hide his true feelings any longer. But being here...

Sometimes, in the wake of the brewing apocalypse, he wishes that he had stayed in Puerto Valor, trained even harder as a knight. Maybe he wouldn’t feel so helpless, so _useless_...But would he still have met his friends? Would he know how to spread hope amongst those still living?

Would he even _have_ hope?

No, how silly to think of all that! He followed his own path, and it led to some sadness, that’s true, but it’s given him more than enough joy, enough _hope_ to carry him forward. And it’s only fair that he pay the world back, right?

He feels a hand on his shoulder, turns to see their little soldier, a savior still in the making. (And how silly of you to think solely of your own hurt, Sylvando, when your friends are struggling just as much as you!)

In any other circumstances, Sylvando would steer clear of Puerto Valor. But these aren’t any old circumstances, and he has to face down his own demons to keep others safe from the very real ones that walk through Erdrea.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For Hendrik, every visit to Zwaardsrust carries the same sadness, even after the ruins have mostly been swept away, but this particular trip is especially bitter.

He had spent years serving the very monster responsible for destroying his home. Truly, were he _not_ grieving, it would be a concern. Had Jasper known—no, it is _certainly_ unproductive to think of him, to go down that dark road at all. No, he must focus on his duty, on protecting the Luminary, Prince Erd—no, Eleven, he corrects himself, not truly a prince, as far as the boy himself considers.

But, he notices, even Rab, in his wizened old age, in his many years of grief, stops by the grave of his daughter and son-in-law, and even sheds a tear. And even Eleven, who had once talked of his bitterness towards Dundrasil (conceptually, of course) before he seemingly even realized what he spoke of, pays his respects with a quiet solemnity. (Understandable, Hendrik considers, now that he knows at least something of his birth parents.)

Perhaps, he thinks, he can spare an extra moment to think of his father, and his mother, and his countrymen. And perhaps, in this moment, he thinks, glancing at the young Luminary, mark glowing once more, he too should push aside his own feelings of self-abasement.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Something about this place feels...strange. Maybe it’s just the headaches talking, but Erik can’t stand it here.

Is it the chill in the air? No, no, he’s not sure what his life was like before he woke up on that island, but whatever it was, it left him fairly resistant to the cold. Maybe it’s the literal cage he’s in? Probably, he thinks, but it’s something more than that.

Something about this place prods at fragments of _something_ , deep down in his heart, if he’s gonna be sentimental about it. He tries to think back to what that priest in…what was it, Sniffle...Sniffle something, he’ll call it Sniffles, said, but his headache worsens.

It almost seems like every time he gets closer to grasping at the loose threads of his memories, something tries to hold him back. He’d assumed he just hit his head a few months back, but there’s almost definitely something more sinister beneath the surface, he feels...

He’s jolted from his thoughts by a girlish giggle emanating from somewhere in this cave. Something about it seems familiar...

A name almost-but-not-quite comes to mind. M…M-something. Whatever it is, it feels like pinpricks on his heart. If that familiar giggle _is_ connected to something in his past, it’s tied to some pretty painful memories.

For a moment, he wonders if he’d be better off not remembering, if the effort causes him this much hurt. But then a quintet of adventurers rush towards him, faces contorted in what Erik thinks is worry, and his mind wanders back to when he first met them (again?) on that ship. Each of them fussing over him, getting him fed and trying to jog his memory, and simply sitting with him in silent companionship when things got to be too much.

Maybe, then, it’s worth remembering after all.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Pray, Luminary, don’t force Serena to follow you on your journey! She’s been through enough, and her heart cannot take any more sorrow.”

Hm. It’s strange, Serena thinks, having undergone so much and yet, even still, being treated like a child. It’s true, in years gone by she had always been the sister who shied away from danger. Leaving Arboria _had_ been Veronica’s idea, after all.

Perhaps, when she and her sister, the other half of her soul, had first begun their search for the Luminary, her neighbor’s words may have had merit. But no, now she has seen enough of the world, of the sorrows it carries, yes, but the joys, too.

She knows now what it’s like to look death in the face and to come out unscathed.

Deep down, she knows that her kinsfolk mean nothing but the best for her. But they’ve always undervalued her, doted on Veronica, prodigy that she was.

Once, she thought that the world could have learned something of Arboria. But now, she wonders, perhaps Arboria could learn something of the rest of the world.

She may once have been content to simply let life pass her by, to stay at home while others took care of the hard parts. She once was perfectly happy to get lost in her romance novels, to live through them, to live through her sister’s adventures.

But no. No more.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As he surveys the newly-rebuilt Cobblestone, Eleven can’t help but feel an overbearing sense of _wrongness_.

The world is still in danger—who knows when Calasmos will finally strike? That much is true. But no, that’s not the cause.

Perhaps he doesn’t feel that he’s earned this? He may have stopped Mordegon, may have freed Heliodor from the clutches of its demonic tyrant parading himself around as king, but that was the easy task. And yet, that may be part of it, a crucial piece of this messed-up jigsaw puzzle, but no, that’s not the root of it.

Every so often, as he wanders through town in a sleepless daze, the houses almost look like barricades, and he can almost see the cannons at the town entrance. A glimpse into a world he left behind.

He doesn’t regret it, per se. He would never hold hostage the lives of so many people, of his fr—no, his _companion_ , for some silly feeling of false friendship. But still, sometimes he forgets, and it’s not until he watches Sylv invent every possible excuse to avoid Puerto Valor, or sees Erik close himself off the minute they arrive in Sniflheim, or sees Serena fade into her sister’s shadow, that he remembers himself and where he is.

Once, he believed that he deserved to wander, without a real home, and it looks like that’s what he gets after all.

His merry band here both is and is not the group of fire-forged companions he saved the world with once before. Some days, a flash of those people appears before him: Rab seems more at peace with the lot life has given him, Hendrik is far more at ease with the group, and Veronica lets down her sarcastic facade and clues the group in to how much she truly cares. But just as quickly, as soon as his heart dares to hope, these moments fade, like one of Yggdrasil’s visions, until he’s left with the same half-strangers he’s not quite adjusted to.

It’s not worth fussing over, he figures. Erdrea needs a Luminary, not some naïve child who cares too much about things that no longer matter.

(Once, he’d believed that he didn’t need to emulate some long-ago hero to save the world, but that was before he found out that someone had to cover for his fuckups, and paid the price for it.)

And so, he stuffs all of his sadness in his back pocket, buttoned shut, secured away and (ideally) never to be reached again.

**Author's Note:**

> To everyone who read the OTHER fic in this series: I know, I kinda undermined that ending, but Veronica's death kinda...broke him. It's fine, we can fix him, eventually.
> 
> Also, FUCK that one NPC in Arboria who tells you not to take Serena with you, that guy SUCKS.
> 
> Hit me up on tumblr at thechavanator OR my spoiler blog at eleven-of-light, on twitter at nonotfromportal, or in the Soldiers of Smile discord as the one with the fright bulb icon probably making El-getting-stabbed jokes! I have a reputation.


End file.
